


don’t wanna be following (falling behind)

by knebworth



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, OOpS!, but also friends with feelings :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25464604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knebworth/pseuds/knebworth
Summary: it’s a 90’s college au. just lean in, babey!
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 28
Kudos: 60





	don’t wanna be following (falling behind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lagunasnudebeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagunasnudebeach/gifts).



> when jen disco dances, she disco dances to shame shame shame by shirley & company. that’s all.
> 
> big thanks to my main g’s bethchildz, queenC_13, and bgaydocrimes for ur support and help, ur all dreamy 💗✨

It starts like any other college hookup. Or, so Jen assumes. It’s her first one. They’re drunk, natch, and she’s pushing her new roommate up against the inside of their dorm door like it’s not made of twenty dollar fibreboard. 

“Fuck, Julie” she moans into the brunette’s mouth, as she grasps her hips, pulling her impossibly closer.

“It’s Judy.”

“Shit, Judy, I’m sorry”

“It’s okay.”

Judy can’t blame her. They’d first met in their dorm room only that day, headed straight to an orientation fair, and there had been a few shots downed in the six hours since.

But then Jen’s hands are sliding in the back of her jeans, and squeezing, pulling Judy up against the thigh Jen has pushed between her legs and she forgets all about how they met.

  
  





  
  


Judy wakes up in Jen’s bed, instinctively reaching for her with grabby hands, but grasps nothing but warm sheets. Her head is a little woolly but she seems to have escaped an actual hangover. 

She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and takes stock. Their clothes are scattered on the floor, save for Judy’s underwear which is inexplicably hooked around the ceiling light. It’s only now, in the mid morning light coming through the curtains, that she realises neither of the beds are even made, sheets still packed between lever arch files and tinned food in the sea of cardboard boxes and holdalls on her own bed.

The room feels empty, impersonal, nothing like the spaces Judy is used to inhibiting, and so her plan for the day is to decorate her tiny half of the room. Put up some polaroids, hang her dream catcher, unpack her bags. Jen’s half of the room is the same, bare walls studded with remnants of blue tac and torn off corners of other people’s memories. 

She’s about to get up and make a start, when she hears movement outside the door. Jen backs in, a paper bag from the bakery between her teeth and a takeaway cup in each hand, kicking the door shut behind her. 

“Hey.” Judy says warmly, suddenly very aware of the fact she’s still naked under the scratchy duvet. She’s never done this before. Well, she’s kissed people and… some other stuff. But she’s never woken up in a near stranger's bed. Do they have to talk about it? She picks at her thumb, worried that she’s made things awkward with what should have been her first friend at college.

“Hey.” Jen smiles nervously as she places the cups on the desk nearest the door. They haven’t picked desks yet. “It’s Julie, right?”. 

Judy’s about to open her mouth but she stops herself just in time, seeing the glint in Jen’s eye.

“I’m kidding, Judy. I got a tea and a coffee, I don’t know what you like, and some pastries, so…” 

“Tea sounds amazing, please. Unless you want the tea then I’ll have the coffee? I like coffee too, I really don’t mind.” Judy says, holding the duvet to her bare chest while reaching out with the other hand to take a croissant. 

“Just take the fucking tea, oh my god.”

So she does, and Jen perches on the bed next to her. They sit silently, nibbling on their croissants and Judy takes Jen in. She’s dressed kind of slobby in tracksuit pants and a baggy t shirt, the kind you get for a fun run or a concert when they run out of your size. It’s a stark contrast to the short, tight dress and clunky boots she wore last night, but Judy appreciates it in a different way. This girl is less intimidating. 

“Look, about last night…” Judy starts, trying to catch Jen’s eye as she blows on her coffee, trying to cool it down.

“We don’t have to talk about it, it’s fine. I was, like, blackout drunk, I don’t exactly remember what happened anyway.”

Judy knows it’s a lie. Neither of them have hangovers and Jen at the very least remembered the slip up with her name. But, it’s a lie that saves her an awkward conversation or a downright rejection, and so she lets it slide. She never was good at confrontation. 

  
  
  





  
  


And sure, they may not talk about it, but it’s not like it’s a Big Thing either. Classes start, and they walk together when they can. Almost all of Judy’s classes are in the Arts studios, and Jen is based mostly in the Business school, but they share an elective English class. It’s in a room off the campus library, closer to the studios than the business school and Jen must be getting soft because she smiles whenever she walks in to see Judy has saved her a seat; and more often than not there’s a coffee cup and a smiley face on a post-it waiting when she gets back from her morning spin class.

The walls of the dorm gradually fill up with posters, they go halves on a microwave, and they fall into a comfortable pattern of orientation events and exploring the campus at their own pace. Sometimes they fall asleep in one of their beds after renting a movie, and it’s comforting, being so close to someone when they’re both in the everything-is-new-and-scary-and-I-don’t-know-anyone phase of freshman year. They get invited to parties, and Jen feels a slight twinge in her stomach when she sees Judy scrawling their room number on a girls arm, but that might just be because she ate too late before drinking. 

“I didn’t know you liked girls?” Jen slurs, hand in Judy’s as they stumble home. And Judy gives her a look, a look that says  _ seriously?  _

Whatever. They’re friends now, and it’s nice. 

It’s not that Jen didn’t have friends in high school. She was on the cheer squad, and she was blonde, which at her school ticked all the boxes for celebrity status. She went to parties, and got good grades, and despite a few behaviour marks, she was liked by most of her teachers. But there was always a feeling that her popularity was designed to be compensation for her tragic home life. She was always the kid whose mom died in junior year, who had nursed her at home for years, who didn’t come to school for a week after  _ it _ happened. All her friendships felt tinged with pity, all her relationships poisoned by grief.

But Judy didn’t know any of this. Here, Jen was a new person, no dead mom, no emotionally absent father, and she relished the chance to reinvent herself. She didn’t mention her mom for the first few weeks, not really on purpose, but by the time she realised, it was too weird to bring up. What do you say, “ _ hey, Jude, you know my mom? so like, she’s dead _ ”? Judy never asks, so Jen never tells.

But then it’s October 27th, and Jen’s asleep when Judy goes to her life drawing class, which is normal. What’s not normal is her not turning up to their English seminar. So  _ not  _ normal that Judy excuses herself and goes back to the dorm, comes in to find Jen curled in her bed, headphones in and eyes closed, and at first Judy thinks she’s asleep. She fidgets in the doorway, pondering whether it’s worth going back to the seminar but then Jen stirs, and Judy sees the tears on her cheeks reflected in the light from the corridor. She dumps her backpack on her bed and sits at Jen’s side, hand automatically resting on her knee. 

“Jen, honey, what’s wrong?” 

And Judy’s voice breaks, makes it sound like she really cares, really wants to know, and that just makes Jen cry even more. So Judy just pulls her to her chest, and strokes her hair, and they sit like that for twenty minutes, in the soft afternoon light with the tinny sound of The Cranberries coming from Jen’s Walkman. Judy whispers into her hair and wipes her tears but doesn’t try to make them stop, just lets her get it all out and when the sobs finally subside, she’s still there.

“It’s my mom.” Jen whispers, into Judy’s shoulder.

“Your mom?” she replies, shifting back so she can look at Jen properly. “Is she okay?” 

“She’s dead. I mean, she died. Two years ago. Today, two years ago today.” 

And Jen feels guilty almost, for not telling Judy, for just piling this on her with no warning. But Judy just pulls her close and kisses her on the forehead, and tells her it’s okay.

And when Jen feels like she can breathe again, they talk about her, and Judy listens, asks the right questions, and she’s just  _ there _ , stroking her thigh and so Jen kisses her. They kiss and it’s nothing like the first time. That was hot and fast and desperate, but this is slow and it’s soft and lingering and it’s all Jen can do not to cry. 

They kiss for what feels like hours and Judy’s little gasps make Jen’s heart flutter and then she’s crying again. Judy holds her until they fall asleep, only this time when Judy wakes up, Jen’s still there, in her arms. She wakes up to a room full of  _ them _ , Judy’s sketchbook on the desk and tie dye creations pinned to the walls and Jen’s heels lining the skirting board, and the photo of Jen’s mom on her bedside table. 

They still don’t talk about it.

  
  





  
  


They’re sitting on Judy’s bed, hanging out of the window sharing a cigarette, and it just sort of happens. There’s a Joni Mitchell track playing softly in the background and Jen is saying something about one of her professors, and Judy swears she’s listening but she can’t focus on anything but Jen’s lips. The way they move when she talks, and the way her tongue darts out to wet them between drags, and the way they wrap around the cigarette, leaving faint smudges that Judy swears she can taste. 

The next thing she knows, she’s dropped the cigarette out of the window and she’s climbing on top of Jen, straddling her without warning. Jen’s breath catches as Judy leans in and Judy can see her chest heaving already, betraying her stoic expression. 

Judy takes Jen’s hands and places them on her hips before closing the distance. Jen tastes slightly like smoke but mostly like the gum she’s always chewing and Judy melts into her, sighing happily into her mouth.

Jen’s hands suddenly kick into gear and she grasps the hem of Judy’s t shirt from where it’s tucked into her denim skirt and up over her head. 

“Can I?” Jen asks, fiddling with the strap of Judy’s bra.

“Yes, oh my god,  _ yes _ .” Judy gasps, as Jen trails kisses across her jawline and down her neck, biting softly and then trailing her tongue over the red mark as she pulls off her bra and sits back for a beat.

“Fucking hell, Judy.” she murmurs. Yeah, she’s seen them before but it was different, it was dark and she was drunk, and Jen doesn’t ever let herself think about it. She can’t help but stare, until Judy’s grabbing her by the back of the neck with a gentle whine of  _ please, Jen  _ and she takes Judy’s already hard nipple into her mouth, tongue roaming over the soft skin and bites a little harder than Judy expected, a little softer than Judy likes.

Judy’s soaking wet already, she can feel it. She rolls her hips again, desperate for any kind of relief and Jen finally takes the hint. Her hands trail up bare thighs and her thumbs reach soft cotton and she curls one thumb under the fabric where it meets her hip bone, silently asking permission. Judy unhooks her arms from around Jen’s neck and peels them off, is about to undo her skirt but Jen grabs her hand, stopping her. 

“Don’t. I can’t fucking wait any longer.”

So Jen fucks her just like that, skirt bunched around her waist and Judy would be lying if she said she didn’t like the way it made her feel kind of dirty. 

She’s still on top of Jen and it’s not long before she’s actually fucking  _ riding _ her fingers, taking as much of them as possible, gasping each time they curl perfectly inside her. She’s got one hand on the windowsill behind Jen’s head and she doesn’t want to stop but if she doesn’t come soon she thinks she might pass out. Her other hand sneaks down her body, until she’s furiously rubbing at her own clit, and the sight makes Jen’s stomach lurch, and she’s embarrassingly close herself just from watching Judy.

“Fuck, Judy, that’s so fucking hot” 

“Yeah? You like watching me touch myself?”

And Jen has  _ no idea _ where this Judy has come from but she’s not complaining, she just curls her fingers over and over, her other hand pinching at Judy’s nipple. Judy’s moaning her name and telling her she’s  _ so fucking close _ and so Jen keeps going, ignores the strain in her wrist and then suddenly Judy’s coming with a tangle of  _ fuck, Jen, fuck, don’t stop, fuck, i’m coming  _ and a strangled scream as Jen’s hand moves from her breast to cover her mouth. 

They sit like that for a few moments, sweaty foreheads touching, chests heaving. Jen slides her fingers out, making Judy shudder involuntarily, and before she knows what’s happening, Judy grabs her wrist and pulls it up, wrapping her lips around the two fingers, sucking them clean. 

It’s one of those things Jen never understood the appeal of, until it was happening right there in front of her.




Maybe they  _ should  _ talk about it. Talk about the fact that they’re now sleeping together on a regular basis, and on the rare days that they don’t, they still  _ sleep _ together at night, cuddling close as the winter creeps in. Jen’s bed has become a makeshift couch, and everything they own is shared.

Judy figures that as long as they don’t talk about it, they can exist forever in this grey area, where no one has any expectations, or makes any promises, and that no one gets hurt.

And it works, for a while. Neither girl goes home for Thanksgiving, and neither feels like the effort of making all that food for two, so they just order Thai food and watch VHS tapes on the shitty TV Judy found in a thrift store. 

“I’m thankful for you.” Judy whispers that night, half hoping that Jen’s already asleep.

She’s not, but the words make her chest feel tight and she realises she’s starting to  _ feel things _ so she fakes a sleepy sigh, and just squeezes Judy closer.




There’s a party on their corridor the next night, just the twenty or so students who live too far from home or too far from happiness at home to have made the trip for Thanksgiving.

They turn the communal living space into a makeshift disco, and Judy knew Jen danced, but she didn’t know she could dance like  _ that.  _ Every move is like liquid, she fills the space and grooves of every note of every song, like they were written with her in mind. It’s too much, and she shouts in Jen’s ear over the music, something about  _ going to the kitchen _ , something about  _ need some water _ . Jen just smiles and nods, and then the music takes her again, and it’s twenty minutes before she realises Judy’s still gone. 

She had ditched her heels an hour ago, and she pads barefoot to the shared kitchen on their corridor, opens the door to see a group of their neighbours in a circle around the dining table, playing cards and cups spread over the table. She’s about to ask if they’ve seen Judy, when one guy, Nick she thinks his name is, shouts “Timers up!”.

She hears Judy before she spins around to see her, giggling as she stumbles into the room from inside the pantry, pulling some dark haired girl behind her. Her lipstick is smudged and her hair is messy and Jen feels fucking  _ sick.  _

Yeah. Maybe they should have talked about it.

**Author's Note:**

> @cardellendrick on twitter x


End file.
